It won’t be easy for the Camera Age generations to see themselves wither away. Every moment captured in the Camera Age is a record that will have an important effect on your future. A lot of time will be spent in discussing what you used to do and how you used to look. At twenty one, you will stare at you pictures and think that you were an angel at three, clumsy at eleven and sported a ridiculous haircut at fifteen. At fifty, you will flip though the pages of another album to see your kids come into existence and grow in a more or less similar pattern– angel at three, clumsy at eleven and sporting a ridiculous haircut at fifteen. I sincerely hope twenty one is a pretty picture.

At sixty you will go through your pictures and see the wrinkles come into existence. You will notice your body go through a steady expansion or may be a series of expansions and contractions. Botox will be witness to your access to a reference point; an old picture. A picture that reminds you of what you no more are.

Before the Camera Age, youth was an illusion. Nobody ever remembered what they looked like when they were young and neither did the people around them. The mirror did all the talking, like it does even today, but only for that one moment. The mirror never revisits the same face or story again. But a picture has tales to tell as well as faces to show, of a frozen time. It’s another way of living in the past, living the past and sometimes wishing for a future that has already passed.

At eighty it will take courage (the other alternative being amnesia) to hold your picture against a mirror.

Initial Conditions: A, B, C and Z are sitting in room1. Room1 has a door (opaque and solid) that opens into room2. The door is shut. Also, if the door is opened, nobody can see what occupies room2 unless he enters it.

Observation:A takes the leap of “faith.” He believes Mr.X exists because he has faith in Z’s words.
B only believes what he sees. He believes Mr.X does not exist and will continue this way until he sees Mr.X himself. He has no faith in Z’s words.
C admits he doesn’t know. He is not concerned about what Z has to say.

If Mr.X occupied room2, it means Mr.X exists. So, A’s belief is equal to the truth.
If Mr.X did not occupy room2, it means Mr.X does not exist. So, B’s belief is equal to the truth.
However, in both cases only one man is being true to himself and he is C because irrespective of whether Mr.X occupied the room or not, none of the three guys know the answer to the question- “Does Mr.X exist?” While A and B “believe,” C “knows” that he doesn’t know. Hence, “I don’t know” is the truth.

Conclusion:The dead don’t know death any better than the born know birth. The most honest answer to some questions is, “I don’t know.” And all the alternate answers to those questions essentially begin with a “Maybe…”

I danced on stage after three years. I had almost forgotten what it felt like being on stage. The performance was so much fun! I wouldn’t call it a satisfying performance though, maybe because the process was devoid of the intension to excel and at the same time I had not painted a picture of what the final product should look like. The reason I began the jig was to go back and check if I really liked dancing they way I did in school. On second thought, it was getting increasingly difficult to distinguish between me and the couch. We were almost done blending into each other.

Just to set the record straight, I am not a phenomenal dancer. This experiment was not done to test whether I could move my limbs efficiently but whether I enjoyed moving them in the first place. So, a friend and I randomly joined a beginner’s batch. The batch had an assortment of people – teens, young office goers, mums and dads and so on. I walked in with no expectations but I was mildly excited at being choreographed again. As always, I positioned myself in the last row. It’s a position I am most loyal to – last bench, last row. If found lurking in the front rows, I am parceled to the last row corner positions, benches and so on. Fair enough. I tend to block views vertically; not so much laterally. Anyway, I took the center, last row so I could watch and ape as instructed.

The first few days were like regular drills, not too exciting, not too boring. The workout sessions were challenging but not exhausting enough. So it was not quite the stress buster I was hoping it would be. I was bored. A few sessions later I learnt that it was very obvious from the way I conducted myself that I was uninterested. But by then the sessions had started gathering momentum. The workouts were more tiring and the dance more enjoyable. Yet, in the last few days the energy fizzled out. But communications between new friends were at its peak. There was more talking, planning, evaluating than dancing along with excitement about the final stage performance.

Come the final day, the performance was a pleasant breeze. The dance was short, simple and enjoyable. With about twenty five dancers occupying the stage, I was glad I was positioned in the second row mid-area. Yet, I had my doubts that my folks would spot me from their far-away seats. Honestly, I didn’t want them to attend the show but mum and dad seemed to want to watch it and my sis and bf seemed pretty excited about the performance. Well, they spotted me! Yayy!

Verdict: The more I dance, the more I enjoy it. If I were to rate this experience, I’d give it a 3/5.